Jewels and Daggers
by Cassandrala
Summary: What happened after the Dragon attack: Thorin races to save the unlucky ones, including the lass he was going to marry, from slave traders!
1. Author's note

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_**Author's note concerning Thorin's age**_:

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**_The only conflict with this story and the movie/book canon is Thorin's age. He is supposed to be twenty four years old at the time Smaug, the dragon, attacks Erebor._**

**_I'm writing this story on the premise that he is older._**

**_This is only a problem because dwarf ages differently than human ages: Humans live between 80-100 years while dwarves live to be around 250 years old. Obviously, with that in mind, dwarves reach maturity around 75 or so._**

**_At a mere 24, Thorin would have been considered a child, but for the sake of appeal in a romantic story, we can blur those lines a little. Other than his age, everything else seems to be in order._**


	2. Chapter 1 -- In which no means yes

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_**(An introduction to characters)**_

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><p><span><strong>JEWELS AND DAGGERS<strong>

_**– Chapter 1 - In Which "No" Really Means "Yes"-**_

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><p><em>Her eyes and words are so icy, o<em>_h, but she burns like rum on the fire!_

_Hot and fast and angry as she can be, __I walk my days on a wire_

_The ways she tells me I'm her and she's mine_

_Open hand or closed fist would be fine_

_The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine_

_-Cherry Wine (Hozier)_

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><p><em>"Cherry Wine" Hozier<em>

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><p>"Where's my hammer?" Thorin asked slowly, head turning from side to side and glancing at the workbench.<p>

"No idea…" The redhead murmured from her own workbench about twenty paces opposite of his. But he could see from the pull at the corner of her plush lips and the gleam in her eye— which could barely be seen through the wealth of curly red hair— that she knew _exactly_ where it was.

"Runa," He grumbled. "I'm already behind; I don't have time for games today."

"Says the dwarf who forgot his leather apron." Her thick accent trilled.

Thorin rolled his eyes. It was true, he _had_ forgotten his apron. "It was unintentional. I've been distracted lately."

"Distracted?" She smirked, turning to face him, one eyebrow raised and her lips puckered. "What on middle-earth could be occupying your mind?"

With his arms crossed, Thorin leaned his weight against the worktable and faced her, sighing, "I think you know exactly what I've been distracted with. Now, where's my hammer?"

In a rhythmic step, like a slow and bouncing dance, Runa stepped forward, grinning mischievously. "I think you forgot your apron on purpose."

"Runa, the hammer—?"

"_I_ think," she said, inches away from his face, finger grazing his collarbone. "_You_ were planning on distracting _me_ by working shirtless with no apron."

Thorin's blood began to boil, partially in frustration and partially from their proximity with her fingers walking along his chest.

"The hammer, lass." He mumbled, and prayed to Mahal she didn't hear the waver in it.

"Oh, I'll be getting to the hammer soon enough," she said with a playful lick of her lips, causing the wide-eyed Thorin to question whether or not she was referring to the smithing tool.

But the approaching steps of loud boots in the hallway caused both of them to jump, startled. Slinking away to her own workbench, Runa straightened her skirts and brushed her hands together while Thorin let out uneasy breaths and tried not to pant.

"Good morning, students." The forgemaster said with the opening of the door. "Today we check the progress of your current projects, let's start with—" the forgemaster eyed Thorin with a raised brow. "Were you planning on working today, Prince Thorin?"

"I was—yes, I intended to—I seem to have—"

"Where's your apron?" The master glanced around the lad. "And furthermore, you seem to be missing some tools."

"Yes…" Thorin's jaw clenched. He glanced quickly at Runa, who was the image of innocence. "I'm sorry that I'm not well-prepared today."

The forgemaster nodded, a shrewd look on the dwarf's face. "And Runa, you do not appear to be prepared, either."

At this, Runa's eyebrows shot up and her mouth became the shape of an "o".

"You've neither tied back your hair nor trimmed your beard." The forgemaster shook his head in a scolding manner.

Runa ducked her head and held her hands together in front of her. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, forgemaster."

Thorin wanted to gag. He wondered just how much her sweet and blameless charade fooled anyone.

"I was busy helping my forge-partner find his things." She added musically.

_You orc!_ Thorin glared at her.

"M-hm." The forgemaster nodded his head. "I'm sure you were at that. Let's make sure the activities in this forge are conducted with hammer and tong, and not with…" He eyed both of them, "Other things."

It was easy for Thorin to wash away his embarrassment when he took in the red hue appearing on Runa's cheeks. The lass had been caught and he knew now that the forgemaster believed her act as much as the Prince did.

"With that said, I'll leave you to it." And the old dwarf made for the door, slamming it noisily behind him.

At first the two looked at each other silently and then Runa puffed out an airy laugh, snorting and slapping her leg.

"How can you be laughing?" Thorin muttered under his breath, despite his grin, which was more brought on by her blasting giggles than the situation itself.

"Oh, come now!" She said, pulling herself upright and running a hand through her hair. Thorin wondered how she managed to comb her fingers through it without getting them hopelessly stuck in tangles. "I have seen you laugh all of a handful of times since we've met—wasn't _any_ of that amusing to you?"

Runa turned back to her workbench, pulling up her sleeves and repeating to herself a chortled "hammer and tongs" before braiding the left portion of her beard back so that it ran along her jawline and went over her ear and into her hair.

Thorin found himself standing close beside her—he didn't remember walking over to her—and watching her braid the other portion of her beard along the other side of her jawline. She didn't seem to notice him and finished the beard braid so that it, too, went into her hair.

His rough fingers moved without his permission and gently collected her mane at the base of her skull, brushing through it and parting it into three sections.

She froze when she felt the skin of his thumb sweep along her neck as he caught escaping strands, looking to him to be holding her breath.

Only a few moments passed before he'd quickly braided her hair and was coming to the end of it. Runa's hair was long enough that when she turned to face him the action did not pull the braid from his hands.

Her expression was solemn, almost angry, as though he'd offended her and was deciding whether to forgive him or not, although she made no effort to stop him. She seemed to be asking him a question with her eyes, a question that seemed to inquire whether or not he knew what he was getting into.

Honestly, he didn't.

"I was… _helping_." Thorin defended himself against Runa's unspoken accusations, finishing the braid and dropping it to her shoulder.

"Hm." She replied and it tormented him that he could not read her mind. Runa grasped at the braid, analyzing it and nodding. "It's good work. I'm sure I couldn't have done better."

It was a compliment, but he knew that she was really saying, "Never do that again without my approval."

His hands folded together and he bit his lip, unsure what to do next.

Taking in his expecting expression, she put her hands on her hips and stood, almost defiantly in front of him. "Is there something you needed, Prince Thorin?"

Somehow, whenever she used his name and title it never sounded like a gesture of respect, but an insult. It would have made more sense if she spat it.

"Well, I _am_ still waiting on my hammer." He grinned.

"Oh," Her hands flew to the shelf beneath her workbench. She held out the tool to Thorin but did not look up at him. "There you are."

A hesitant moment passed before he reached out to take it—he almost expected that she would grab it back at the last second and bash his head in with it. The lass looked very put off, but it only spurred Thorin to do what he did next.

He leaned forward, almost unaware of what he was doing, and sunk one hand behind her head and pressed his lips against hers, smelling her sweet scent and tasting what he thought was strawberries. They lingered a moment, mouths locked together, when she pulled back and struck him across the cheek.

"Ow." He said after his head turned sideways with a cracking sound. He'd been hit before, weapons instructors took no pity on him as a Prince, but the snap of her strong hand against his cheek hurt worse than he would have thought. Then again, she _was_ learning to be a blacksmith and one of the requirements was being able to lift so many stoneweights…

"What. Was. That." She said each syllable as though they were poison.

"Your charms working their magic." Thorin muttered bitterly. "Before the forgemaster came you were very—"

"That was a game," She said, wiping her mouth as though he'd left a sour aftertaste. Mahal, he hoped he hadn't. Not that it mattered. But it did. But it didn't. Mahal, what was he thinking?

"And you play it with a Prince?" He asked incredulously. "You have already accused me of being too serious—did you not understand how I might react when you make me feel..."

"What do I make you feel, Thorin?" She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg and raising an eyebrow. As silly as it might have seemed to anyone else, Thorin noted with encouragement that this was the first time she had said his name without disgust. Something didn't feel right, though—aside from the unexpected kiss and her reaction—and he knew there was more to it than just his attraction to her or hers to him.

Thorin mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at her with a knowing smile. "I think the better question is: What do_ I_ make _you_ feel, Runa?"

She rolled her eyes at him and snorted.

_So lady-like_, Thorin laughed in his head. "Why are you afraid of me?"

Jabbing a sharp finger at his chest, Runa stepped forward and sneered. "I am _not_ afraid of you."

Thorin held his hands up in surrender. "No, you're right, you're not afraid of me. But you _are_ afraid of something."

Turning and sighing in exasperation, she began assembling various tools. The Prince noted that one of them was upside down and almost grinned when he realized she was just as frazzled as he was, though she was better at hiding it.

Leaning against her workbench, he stood close enough to watch her face while he pondered the puzzle in front of him. "Runa, I'm going to say something foolish."

"Ha!" She continued to move about, collecting tools—some necessary, some not—and arranging them in a haphazard manner. "That's perhaps the wisest thing you've said so far."

He let the remark pass and continued, "Runa, I want you."

She paused, glancing at him with an amused expression, and then realized she had gathered tools that were not needed and began to put them away.

"And I know you want me." He pressed. "But you don't want to _be_ with me. Why is that?"

For a moment the dwarf lass looked as though she might say something cocky, brushing his admission away as though it didn't matter… but then her tools fell to the workbench and her expression fell with them.

"I'm a lord's daughter," She said as though irritated that she was giving obvious information, "and I have to follow a certain decorum, but I have a lot more liberty than most. If I…" but then she cut herself off and brushed past him angrily, letting out a huff.

It was enough, though. Enough for Thorin to understand. He was the heir of Erebor, direct descendent from the line of Durin, and whomever it was that married him would take on responsibilities as Queen of Erebor—the honor, the elevation, the praise, the glory… but also the restrictions, the high expectations, the stifling courtly procedures…

And none of those were very attractive to any dwarf lass, let alone the beautiful, wild creature standing before Thorin in this forge. As much as he hated agreeing with Runa, the future she must be visualizing with him would kill her spirit. But he wasn't so sure her fears were founded, that what she dreaded would actually come to pass. Still, he needed a moment to think...

"I understand." He said, not a little dejection in his voice. He lumbered back to his workbench and brought out the tools he needed to finish his metalwork.

Thorin wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe Runa's eyes followed him as he walked away. If they did, he wouldn't embarrass her further by turning his head to check.

He removed his tunic and set it in a cabinet, reaching beneath the stove beside the bench and stoking the fire. _Tell me your secrets, fire_, Thorin mused. _Tell me how to make this lass change her mind…_

"I was only joking, before," He heard her speak from her own stove. "You don't have to work shirtless."

"Aye," he grinned. "But I have other things to do after I'm done here; it wouldn't do for the Prince of Erebor to be walking around with burns in his tunic."

Standing and reaching for his lost-and-found hammer, he heard an exhale of a sigh behind him, but Thorin wasn't sure whether to attribute it to her impatience with him or the alternative… she _liked _seeing him shirtless.

"Where are my tongs?" Runa's voice broke the silence. Thorin finally turned to see her standing with hands on her hips. "Thorin?"

_Turnabout's fair play_, he thought with a grin. "Yes, lady Runa?" He knew she hated it when he called her by her title.

She said nothing, but strode over to his bench and started rummaging through the cabinets.

Thorin stood perfectly still, arms crossed in front of his chest and head swiveling to watch her scour through his shelves. He wore the same mischievous grin now that Runa had worn only moments before.

"You think that's funny, then, Son of Durin?" She tried to push him aside, but he stood planted where he was, entertained by her effort to disrupt his footing. Runa immediately took her hands off of him, though, when her eyes fastened to his chest, seemingly absorbing his muscled stature.

"And not a few breaths ago did you accuse _me_ of being too somber."

"Stop," she muttered with eyes clamped shut and fists clenched tight.

"And then days ago I remember you saying something about my never having—"

Snap! There it was again, that sound of her strong hand coming into contact with his cheek, only this time opposite one.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," She grumbled. "Just tell me where my tongs are. It's as easy as that."

Still somewhat reeling from the blow he'd received, he shook his head and faced her boldly.

"No." came his simple answer.

Runa made as if to strike him again, but the action was not whole-hearted and Thorin grabbed her wrist, showing her that as strong as she might think she was, he was stronger.

"It was only in jest. Let it go." He said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

"A jest to you, maybe," She growled, trying to pull back her hand. Thorin held tight. "Unhand me."

"No." Thorin said again in a gentle tone. She struggled a little against his grip.

"You tempt me, don't you understand that?" She murmured with her head bowed. "Can't you just accept that we can be nothing more than companions and forge-partners?"

"No." He said truthfully.

"Thorin," She spoke his name in a reverence he'd never heard before, as though Runa was pleading with him. "Please. You have a power over me and it frightens me."

He was startled by the admission, but did not release her wrist, though he felt it loosen in his grip.

"I never expected to hear you say something like that."

"It's true," she shrugged, meeting his eyes for a moment and then looking away. "You would have figured it out sooner or later. I might as well declare it and hope you take pity on me. Will you please let me go?"

"No." He repeated. Secretly, it pleased him that a simple hold on her hand caused her to be polite with him. Just that was evidence enough that she was being honest about his "power over her". Thorin really didn't understand it, didn't know what to do with it, but the wheels in his head started turning after a moment.

"Runa, you're going to have to figure out what you really want from me." The Prince said in as sweet a voice as he could muster. His other hand came to rest on the knuckles of the arm he was latched on to, smoothing over her veins with his fingers lightly. The touch seemed to conflict the dwarven lady even more and she pulled back from it at first, looking at him as though she regretted her previous confession, but then shutting her eyes and sighing.

"Do you really think I would let them confine you?" He brought up the captured hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Do you really believe that any of the advisors or ministers has any say in what the Queen pleases to do?"

Now it was Runa's turn to say "no".

"Would I ask you to stop working in a forge, stop you from doing what makes you happy?"

"No."

"And what kind of a King would submit to the wishes of his people before his wife's?"

"You will _always_ put your people before me." She said imperiously, eyes fierce with determination. It was not an accusation, not something said out of bitterness, but a command. "When you are King and you are faced with difficult choices, _you do not_ have my permission to put your Queen ahead of your charge."

Thorin wanted to grin, wanted to point out that she'd referred to herself as Queen, wanted to revel in the fact that there was hope for them… but she had spoken sagely and he could not ignore the authoritative tone that impressed him into believing she was the only lass worthy of being his wife.

Now he was certain. Now he had no fear. Now he released her hand and bent his head to kiss her again, this time being met with enthusiasm.

He burrowed his hand behind her head again, under her hairline. His other hand looped around her waist while both of her hands came up to tangle in his own long locks. Thorin felt her fingers stroking through his hair, grasping and sliding down the braids behind his ears, sending a pleasant icy sensation to his scalp.

"If there's nothing else to be concerned with, will you stop being stubborn and consent to be the future Queen of Erebor?" His lips lingered on her neck, hoping that she wouldn't come to her senses too soon and refuse him.

"No." She murmured weakly against his kisses.

Pulling away from her neck, he peered into her face with confusion.

"I don't care if you're a Prince, _I'm_ the lass," She jutted a thumb at herself. "And_ I_ do the choosing around here, eh?"\

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><p>.<p>

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**I'm secretly casting Merida from Brave as Runa in my head-cannon.**

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	3. Chapter 2 -- The Incident at the Ball

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**_(Evidence of Thorin's powerful loyalty)_**

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><p><span><strong>JEWELS AND DAGGERS<strong>

_**- Chapter 2 -The Incident at the Ball-**_

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><p><em>Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise<em>

_I don't have a choice, but I'd still choose you_

_- Poison and Wine (The Civil Wars)_

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><p><em>"Poison and Wine" The Civil Wars<em>

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><p>She was not dressed in finery as the other dwarf women were, but clad in a simple dress and a shawl of what looked like light brown wolf fur. The honey-bee yellow dress clung to her shapely form all the way down to her feet and when she turned to acknowledge the guard at the door, Thorin could see that the string sleeves gliding over her collar bone, over her shoulders, and down her shoulder-blades made way to reveal the skin of her back only a few inches above her waist. The furry shawl draped low to her backside, folded over the bends of her elbows.<p>

It was bold attire for a function such as this, but Thorin knew Runa didn't care about the eyes that followed her, some in judgment and some in admiration. Others—many others—simply looked on in desire, wondering how on Middle-Earth she could walk so comfortably in so little clothing.

She did not walk swiftly to him, but Thorin knew Runa was watching him and making her way at a torturously slow pace. When she finally stood before him, she wore a wicked smile.

"You certainly took your time." Thorin said in a mock grumble.

"How else was I supposed to let you thoroughly ogle me?" She beamed with a raised brow.

There were a fair share of lady dwarves in the King's hall, all dressed in fine apparel and covered from head to toe in jewelry. But Runa surpassed them all with her simple shift and shawl—a strange idea, wolf's fur, but somehow it was perfect for the color of her dress and the overall manner of the lady dwarf.

Thorin reached out to touch the single necklace which was Runa's only adornment—the charm he'd gifted her with, though she'd traded the flashy silver chain for a leather chord.

"You are the most beautiful thing in this room." Thorin attempted a compliment, but his mind had gone blank when his hand unwittingly grazed her bare collarbone, which was sprinkled with reddish freckles. Her shoulders were freckled, too. Why had he never noticed that before?

She seemed to understand the effect she was having on him because she was biting her lip, probably in an attempt to keep from laughing.

Thorin shook his head. "Will you dance with me?"

"No." She said with a frown. "I'm here for the ale." But then her lips twisted into a smile and she couldn't help but laugh at her own joke. "Oh, Thorin. I came for _you_, silly dwarf."

He felt a thrill run through his body at her words, recognizing that while a majority of the population saw him as a title instead of a person, Runa did no such thing. She saw him for what he really was, and she admired him—flaws and all.

A few dances in and the two were winded, taking seats at a table set against the wall to allow for more dancing room. Goblet in hand, Thorin raised his wine to clap it against Runa's tankard of ale and guzzle its contents as quickly as he could.

An approaching figure stifled Thorin's mood when a dwarf noble asked Runa for a dance.

Thorin reluctantly let Runa out of his sight—perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was her dress, or perhaps it was his natural instinct as a dwarf man in regards to his dwarf woman. Whatever the reason, she did not seem to share his hesitancy as he handed her off to the lad who asked for a dance.

He watched them whirl together as the music played on and mused that if he'd wanted her all to himself, he should have arranged for a private evening. But as it was, he must play fair at the public gathering and share his dance partner.

And, he reminded himself, she wasn't really his… not yet, anyway.

His father must have seen the way Thorin followed Runa with his eyes because he clapped the lad on the shoulder, almost sending Thorin out of his skin with the startling contact, and murmured something about the wiles of dwarvish females.

They engaged in conversation for a moment— his father interested in his progress as a training blacksmith, the overall success of his studies—when Runa had suddenly appeared by Thorin's side again.

Her face was a quaking frown, as though she had been frightened and was trying to hide it with anger.

But Thorin knew her better than that. At least, he hoped he did. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing." She snapped, but the way she drew closer to Thorin—unconsciously brushing her hand against his, but not committing to holding it—said something else.

"That was a short dance…" He murmured softly.

"I'm not sure he knew how to dance." Runa said with a roll of her eyes.

Thorin wasn't sure what had affected her demeanor, but it caused him to become concerned. "Why do you say that?"

The lady dwarf stomped her foot lightly and looked away from Thorin as though embarrassed, but finally sighed and consented to give him an answer. "He wasn't quite sure where to put his hands."

A deadpanned expression was his only reply, and if there was any lingering doubt in his mind on what she was implying, she made it disappear when she added, "He… touched me."

To say that Thorin was incensed would have been to say that his fury gradually rose or that he sent the noble across the room a disgusted or angry look—but Thorin did none of these things. He was too embodied with anger to make much sense of his actions and found himself smoothly striding through the tangle of dancing bodies and shoving over the dwarf who had molested his fiery-haired lass.

Once again, he was referring to her as "his", only this time he did not correct himself. He was far too gone in his assault on the noble to acknowledge anything otherwise.

The drinking noble sputtered through ale and a bleeding nose before he turned on Thorin with a swift kick, clearly not recognizing the powerful Prince for who he was. Thorin caught the dwarf's foot in his hands and twisted it around, sending the other dwarf to the ground with a cry.

The brawl lasted only a minute before the guards were able to come between the fighting dwarves. The noble's father—as he must have been, for he wore the same features as his son, though they were aged—came forward to question what had happened.

Thorin stood, clenched fists at his side, restraining himself from further injuring the noble's son and catching his breath.

"Who is this upstart that has violated a gathering of peace?" The noble's father jeered at Thorin.

"He is my grandson," boomed the voice of the great Thror from where he sat, towering above the heads of the standing bodies.

Thorin chanced a look back at Runa and saw that his father, Thrain, stood close beside her. Very close. Thrain was whispering in her ear and she was nodding with wide eyes. But what Thorin saw next startled him to his core: Thrain's fingers went to Runa's hair. Before he could make sense of the image, his attention was called back to the noble's father, who was demanding an explanation for Thorin's attack.

"I…" Thorin knew that all eyes were on him and he wished he could find the words to explain, but everything that came to him sounded awkward. _Your son couldn't keep his hands to himself and violated my future bride…_ That was sure to earn him some mockery as well as disbelief.

"I believe your son was a little confused as to the Lady Runa's social status." Thrain called from beside her.

"Her status?" The noble's son asked incredulously, staunching the blood from his nose with a handkerchief. "She is unmarried and attending a ball—I asked for permission to dance with her—"

"From the wrong person." Thrain interjected. "That right belongs to my son."

All eyes went from Lady Runa to Prince Thorin, then back to Runa, and then back to Thorin, who closed his mouth when he realized it was agape.

The noble father took a few steps in Thrain's direction, glancing at Runa while she unearthed from her wild hair an engagement braid. An engagement braid? How did—oh. That's what his father's hands had been doing.

It was a nasty trick, Thorin acknowledged, but the clans of the dwarves were fickle and would raise a fuss over just about anything, interrupting the heavily bought peace that reigned within Thror's kingdom. This, at least, would stifle whatever contest Thorin had inadvertently brought on.

When the guests caught sight of the engagement braid, a majority of them dispersed from the crowding of Runa and went about their business, already bored with the incident. The nobleman and his father rushed off to a quiet corner and had a tight discussion among themselves.

Thorin, blessed by Mahal, was happily ignored by the passer-byers and made his way to Runa and his father, taking in their expressions and wondering how in only a few moments he had suddenly become engaged.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, still shocked not only by his own actions but by the way Runa had chosen to save him from certain disgrace. "I don't know what I was thinking; I couldn't just let him—"

"Oh, hush," She smirked at him, laying a hand on his chest. "You didn't think I had plans to Choose anyone else, did you? I was going to do it; I was just looking for the right opportunity… which, I guess, just happened."

"Aye, that, it did." Thorin sighed with a roll of his eyes. He felt her fingers on his face.

"You're bleeding." She frowned. Runa brought out a handkerchief—Mahal, where could she have kept it in such a dress?—and pressed it against his lip. "You're a mess."

"Which I am happy to be if it was a product of defending my lady's honor." He said, finally satisfied with himself for saying something romantic at a moment's notice.

"Well, don't get a swelled head from it." Runa mock-scolded, but winked at him and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "I need some air. Walk with me."

They passed through the party and a hallway leading away from the guests, through glass doors and to a balcony which overlooked the scant forest on the eastern side of the mountain under cover of star and moonlight.

It would have been perfectly romantic if not for Thorin's clicking jaw and Runa's shawl covering her shoulders and arms against the cold.

Sitting against the railing, Runa suddenly blurted out, "I've never seen you so heated before. It made me wonder what you look like in combat."

With a short laugh, he answered, "I fear my friend Dwalin would tell you I am poor at it, but I consider myself as well-equipped as I should be."

"You're rather cheeky about it, aren't you?" She smirked with a wink. "Would you teach me?"

"Don't you already know?"

"I'd say I'm better at _making_ a sword than wielding them, but I'll have to teach my sons someday, won't I?" And then she narrowed her eyes at Thorin. "Aside from the heir your line demands you produce, how many dwarflings do you have your mind set on?"

At first, Thorin laughed, thinking it was in jest, but when he took in her soft smile and expectant face, he shook his head. "I haven't thought that far head—May I ask what brought this on?"

Runa shrugged. "I was caring for my sister's sons yesterday and curiosity bit me. I had to ask."

Nodding, he grinned and sat close beside her on the railing. "I saw you with them, you seemed very happy."

"I was." She beamed. "I love children. I hope to fill this mountain to overflowing with your offspring, if you'll let me."

Mahal, was he ready for such a thing? He was being trained for the ruling of a kingdom, but when it came to his own house… Yes, he was certain he could be ready if Runa was there to help.

"I haven't thought much on being a father." He said wistfully, smiling at the ground. "I wonder if I would be any good at it."

Runa let out a snort of a laugh and smacked her knee. "You'd be a wonderful father to your sons. It's your daughters I'm worried about." She fixed him with a humorous jeer. "They're going to walk _all over_ you."

"Will they, now?" Thorin met her gaze and almost stopped breathing. Her shawl had lowered, exposing her skin to the moonlight, which made interesting patterns on her pale flesh and red freckles.

"Of course they will._ I_ do." She murmured, catching his expression with half-lidded eyes.

"Do you, now?" He whispered in an unconscious reply. He hardly knew what he was saying, but his mouth was trying to respond to her words while his head was leaning in closer, lips already reaching for hers.

She pressed herself into his chest while their mouths locked and melted the rest of her form against him, hands creeping to his face and stroking his beard. His did the same, only his fingers couldn't brush through her beard like they wanted to as it was braided and bound to her jawline.

"Thorin," She moaned against his mouth. "We need to declare a day for the wedding."

"Tomorrow." He answered with his own moan.

"I don't want to talk about it tomorrow, I want to talk about it now." She said with another press to his lips.

"No, the wedding—tomorrow." He muttered, running hand over her shoulder and stroking her new engagement braid.

She pulled back with wide eyes and a laugh. "You're putting me on! You think you're being funny?" She smacked his shoulder.

"No. Yes." He answered on both accounts.

"Impatient much?" She chortled before she leaned forward and kissed him again.

It didn't much matter what he wanted, though, as his royal duties often made his decisions for him. But at least he could laugh about it.

"Very." He answered her question.

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><p>.<p>

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**Picture of Runa at the ball: kallielef. deviantart art/To-Bed-480614397 (I absolutely DO NOT own this image, ugh, I wish I did, but I don't!)**


	4. Chapter 3 -- Distractions

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_**(Introduction to conflict)**_

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><p><span><strong>JEWELS AND DAGGERS<strong>

_**- Chapter 3 -Distractions-**_

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><p>.<p>

_When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I run to?_

_._

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><p><em>"On My Way Home" Pentatonix<em>

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><p>"Runa?" She heard Thorin groan as he lifted his arm and rested the bend of it over his eyes.<p>

"Hm?"

"My arm is numb."

Runa mumbled something and lifted her head from his bicep, laying her temple on his shoulder while he pulled his arm around her. She inched her way closer to him, feeling the grass pulling at the fabric around her waist and squinting when she realized the sun had finally decided to emerge from cloud cover. A mutter left her lips.

"What was that?"

"I said you've been finding something to complain about since the moment we got here." She quipped, laying her arm across his stomach and dozing off again. The wind was playing with her hair and she was starting to wonder how quickly she could walk back into the mountain.

"I'm not accustomed to being distracted from my duties." The low rumble came from his chest and Runa could feel the vibrations of his deep baritone in her chin.

"I think I'm going to count how many times you refer to me as a distraction."

Unexpectedly, he pulled himself out from under her, sending Runa's head rolling to the grass while he leaned against his side to face her, elbow on the ground and fist against his temple. She let out a short whine, unhappy that she'd finally found a comfortable position only to have it taken away so quickly. Letting out a sigh, she made no attempt to move from where she was, lying on her back and staring up into his face.

"Let me say that again," Thorin smirked. "I've never found anything worthy of taking my time away from lessons and training. Until now."

Runa knew her cheeks were a deep shade of red—she didn't need a looking glass to know—because his compliment sent a torrent of blood rushing to her head. She longed for more control over her features, but somehow this dwarf had wormed his way into her heart with such startling ferocity that the smallest sentiment of appreciation sent her head whirling. It was a wonder she could ever find a witty comeback.

Except for now. She allowed herself to be completely dumbfounded. "Thank you."

Thorin's eyebrows rose. "You're welcome…"

As embarrassed as she was that he'd seen her besotted look, she knew she couldn't take it back. What was the point in concealing it from him anyway? Through hazy eyes and with blood pumping into her ears, she watched him lean closer for a kiss and shut her own eyes.

However, when Runa expected him to meet her lips, she was startled when she felt his beard brush up against her neck. The sensation caused her body to jolt and tense.

"No." She murmured.

"No?" She heard the rumble of his questioning voice as he trailed down to her collarbone.

"Thorin." Runa said sternly.

He didn't answer, but kept trailing downward. With as much strength as she could muster, she reached out both of her hands against his shoulders and shoved him away from her, sitting up and scowling.

"I said no." She growled.

The confusion on his face was tinged with a look of irritation. "What else did you bring me here for?"

"It's not secluded—I didn't realize you'd think… I thought the river and trees and grass would help ease some of the stress you've been under."

"They did," He groaned, inching closer to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, but she pulled away from him again and stood, fists on hips.

"Did you not hear me when I said 'no', Prince Thorin?"

Quicker than she expected, he jumped to his feet and sent her his own scowl. She had seen it before and usually was not daunted by it, but something in his face made it all the more frightening in this moment…

"I heard you, I just didn't believe you." The dwarf said, stepping forward and reaching for her hand. Normally, it would have been a delicate gesture, but he used the leverage to pull them together again, crushing her lips with a bold kiss.

"What has gotten into you?" Runa pushed mightily, but he was using his own strength against her.

"You've never rejected me before," He muttered against her neck.

"You've never had that look in your eye before." She scolded. "Let me go! You're hurting me." She whispered, letting her shoulders go limp. Runa knew she didn't have enough strength to fight Thorin off if he was intending what she thought…

Thorin released his, perhaps inadvertent, painful clutch at her arms and saw that the skin was reddened with fingermarks. He looked shocked to see the marks he'd left behind and seemed to wake up from his lustful haze, stepping back with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, reaching out his hands, but afraid to touch her again. "I don't know what came over me."

"I'm sure I've teased you enough," She let out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry, I never intended to make you think—"

"Stop." He said with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm already angry enough with myself, but if you try to apologize and assume the blame for this, I risk losing my mind."

The sun hid itself behind the clouds again while the two dwarves stood apart from each other, arms crossed and lost in thought.

Runa knew she was bold, but hoped very much that she'd never given Thorin the impression of crossing any lines. If he had been any other dwarf, she might have considered blurring those lines a little—but she wanted to protect Thorin's reputation as future King of Erebor by keeping him as safe from public scrutiny as she could. She could not stop every rumor, but something inside of her would feel accomplished if at least she and Thorin knew they had followed certain rules to the letter.

"I didn't mean to tempt you," Runa shivered in the wind. The sudden absence of the sun left everything cold and, as mountain weather has a way of doing, the moisture had become thick enough to create a fog almost immediately. "I didn't mean to go beyond what you—"

"Stop." He said again, in a firmer voice, pulling away from her when she tried to take his hand.

"Why won't you let me touch you?" She said in dejection.

"I'm ashamed of my behavior," he said, still not making eye contact with her. "I shouldn't have assumed… much less be so forceful… I thought you were—"

"Playing at resistance?" She offered. "That sounds like something I would do."

Thorin hastily turned and stomped in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Runa followed, startled. He didn't answer, he just made straight for the mountain. "Thorin, stop! Look at me."

Though he stopped his forward motion, he did nothing to turn and face her. Rushing to stand before him, Runa looked into Thorin's face and saw his absolutely loathing expression. "Thorin, you know I forgive you; it was an honest mistake."

"Mistake?" He ground out. He nodded his head at her arms, which were still red from his former grasp. "My marks on your skin are no mistake. I would have taken you against your will."

"No, you wouldn't." Runa rolled her eyes.

"If you hadn't told me I was hurting you, I would have." Thorin moaned, turning his head away from her.

The admission didn't scare Runa as much as it should have, but then again she did understand who she was talking to and that he was given to bouts of drama just as she was. What he said was spoken in fear and not necessarily true.

Taking his face in her hands and pulling his gaze back to her, Runa spoke. "If I give credit to all the loving things you've ever said, then you love me enough not to do something so indecent." She pressed a hand to his lips to stop him from objecting. "Let me take my share of the blame and apologize for leading you on. If you let me do that then I'll forgive you—an apology in exchange for forgiveness."

"I don't want either from you."

"Then stand there and brood!" She said in disgust, throwing her hands in the air and shaking her head.

Though a short moment passed, it seemed like hours, until Thorin reached out gently and took her hand. Looking down at their hands, he sighed heavily.

"Runa, I'm sorry. I—"

A gust of wind shot up and blew them over with a powerful force, sending them both to the ground.

"What was that?" Runa gasped, searching the sky for some sign of a storm. The smell of smoke seeped into her nostrils and she turned her head toward Dale to see its banners flapping wildly.

Another forceful blow of air rushed at them, pinning them to the floor with a wave of heat.

"Thorin?" She said in what was admittedly a voice of fear.

"Get inside, quickly!" He shouted at her, helping her to her feet and pushing at her back, causing her to run.

Making speed, Runa's footsteps brought her to an entrance of the mountain and she peered behind her at the face of her intended. "Thorin, what was that?"

"I'm not sure, yet," He answered quickly, ushering her up a set of stairs, but she could tell from his tone that he had a guess. When they reached the top, they were met by Thorin's father, Thrain.

"It comes!" Thrain said with wide eyes to his son. Runa wasn't sure what had passed between the two of them, but she was irked that she wasn't in on it.

"What comes?" She demanded, more out of fear than anger.

"Firedrake," Thrain breathed, striding away from them. "Runa, go to your mother and gather your family in the lower halls!"

"Thorin," She whispered in a panic, clutching at his arm as he began to follow his father.

"Runa, do as he says," Her beloved said in a calm voice, taking her hand in both of his and kissing the knuckles. "I'll come to you soon enough."

"You'll find me?" Runa asked in a daze, fear overloading her senses. It was one thing to anticipate an attack from a dragon, but coupled with separation from the dwarf she loved was staggering—especially when she had no guarantee they would return to each other.

"Yes, my heart." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "I promise, I will find you after this is over. Now, go!"


	5. Chapter 4 -- The Coming of Smaug

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_**(Severity of conflict)**_

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><p><span><strong>JEWELS AND DAGGERS<strong>

_**– Chapter 4 – The Coming of Smaug-**_

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* * *

><p>Thorin climbed the steps after his father, passing the word along that everyone should retreat to the lower levels of Erebor. It wasn't until he reached the fifth level that he realized he wasn't following Thrain anymore.<p>

"Father?" He called out, turning sharply and finally seeing his father at the start of the steps on the level below.

"Raise the alarm! Don't stop, lad!" His father shouted to him. "I go to find your grandfather—Hurry!"

Obeying Thrain's instructions, Thorin's feet flew from step to step, bringing him closer to one of the high overlooks above the main gate.

"Thorin?" He heard from the balcony. "What is this?"

"A dragon." Thorin answered back hastily, calling to one of the sentinels in the tower above. "Dragon!"

A wave of flame descended from the sky, engulfing everything in its path and Thorin had just enough time to pull Balin toward him and rush behind a column. The heat was as intense as the hottest of forges, but Thorin knew they were luckier than the other souls on the balcony.

"Forward!" Thorin cried, pressing Balin toward the steps when the fire died down. "We must get everyone to the lower levels quickly!"

Balin rushed off to carry out his Prince's orders and Thorin caught a glance of the red skin of the beast as it swooped below the balcony and began to press itself against the main gate. Thorin threw himself against the scorched railing of the balcony, peering below—he knew it was foolhardy, but he needed to see it!

The firedrake was larger than any beast Thorin had ever seen before, covered in blood-red scales that reminded him of the pattern of pine cones. The dragon's wings were folded, but from what Thorin could see, he knew they were enormous. But what frightened Thorin the most was when the beast spoke.

"None shall escape from Smaug," It said, vibrating the very air around Thorin's head with a growl that sounded like thunder. The dwarf ducked as the dragon took to the air again, breathing a small sigh of relief when the beast passed over without seeing him. Another glance at the gate below told Thorin that it had been dented to the point of sealing—the gate would be impossible to open from the inside.

With his mind racing furiously, Thorin gathered his wits and sought to keep his hands from shaking as he tried to think of a way to open the twisted doors.

"Mahal's hammer, Thorin!" He heard a shout from behind him. "Have you gone mad? Get away from that balcony!"

"Dwalin," Thorin breathed another sigh of relief. "The gates are broken—the dragon has sealed them—we must find a way to get the people out!"

"That's not my concern, right now." Dwalin shook his head, stepping closer and grabbing Thorin's forearm. "Your father told me to come and fetch you and bring you to him."

"Do you hear what I'm saying?" Thorin pulled away from the muscled dwarf. "There's no point in going to the lower levels if we can't get out!"

"We're not going to the lower levels," Dwalin said sternly, reaching out for Thorin again and pulling him toward the stairs. He looked as though he would have said more, but the mountain began to tremble and jolt by the force of some unseen blow. The movement caused Thorin and Dwalin to lose their footing and topple over each other, almost rolling down the stairs, but catching each other before either could fall too far.

"He's ramming the mountain," Thorin muttered, catching his breath.

"Aye, he means to seal off all the ways out." Dwalin groaned, pulling Thorin to his feet. "If I was a dragon, that's what I'd do—seal off the mountain and then come through the only opening I could fit."

"It'll be a bloodbath." Thorin said fearfully as he climbed downward, skidding to the bottom of a staircase after another quake shook the mountain.

"And _you_ won't be anywhere near it. I've been told to find you, bring you to Thrain and Thror, and help you out of the mountain as quickly as we can manage."

"Why should my fate be any different than that of my people?" Thorin shouted, coming to a halt and pushing away Dwalin's strong arms.

"You're a Durin!" Dwalin bellowed, pressing Thorin forward before throwing his arms out to a wall to steady himself as the mountain shook again. "Any of our people would agree that you need to be protected more so than they—we don't have time to argue about it, Prince Thorin! Now, through that hallway with ya'!"

Thorin continued to object, but Dwalin was stronger and won out in the end. It wasn't long before they were reunited with Thrain, but he was frantic and said that he could not find his father, Thror.

"I know where he is." Thorin muttered, running for the treasury. And his assumption was correct—there was Thror, guarding the arkenstone as though it were an infant, and standing on a platform in front of his coveted piles of gold. As soon as Thorin pressed him to come with them, the arkenstone flew from Thror's hands and was lost in the sea of gold—but there were four dwarves pulling at him and shoving him back into the inner halls.

"We are lost without the stone!" Thror wailed, piercing Thorin's heart with disgust. He had seen his grandfather's attachment to the stone, but the dwarf King's insistence on its safety in a time of great danger sickened him.

"To the tunnels!" Thrain's guard called as he led them forward.

"The dragon has blocked them off." Dwalin said as they followed.

"Then we must pray to Mahal that he may have missed one." The guard hissed.

"Father, I cannot flee to safety when our people are in danger." Thorin insisted as they came to a dimly lit hallway.

"You must, my son." Thrain commanded. "Even Runa would insist on it."

"Runa." Thorin's mouth dropped open in horror. "No, I will not leave her behind, as well!"

Breaking away from Dwalin's strong grip, Thorin made speed toward the front gate, where he was relieved to see it open and dwarves fleeing through it. He clutched at an injured dwarf, helping the lad to his feet and supporting him as they broke through the massive, broken doors, when he saw at the top of a hill the ranks of elven archers.

"The elves!" Thorin exclaimed, passing the injured dwarf to another and waving his hands frantically at them. "Help us!"

But despite his calls, he could see that the elf King, Thranduil, was hesitating.

"What are you waiting for?" Thorin called out, but as the words left his mouth, the elves disappeared over the hill. With wide eyes, he realized that help was not coming…

"Mahal," He whispered, but he could not utter a prayer for mercy because his mind had gone blank. Not even a whole hour had passed since he had first stepped out onto the grassy knoll with his beloved and now the mountain was taken by an unstoppable force. He glanced at the burning ruins of Dale ahead and knew that there was nothing to be done for their allies, the men.

But Runa! Where was Runa? Oh, Mahal, please let her live!

Turning back the way he came, Thorin plunged into the darkness of the dwarf halls once more, determining that if he had to take on Smaug himself, he would, if it only meant that he could get Runa to safety! His plans were brought short, though, when he noticed that the halls began to tremble once more, but from _within_ the mountain now—columns crashed, walls broke apart, and pieces of the ceiling began to break and fall to the ground. It was one of these pieces of debris that flew downward and struck Thorin hard on the head.

The impact felt as though Thorin's skull had been pierced by a blade and he saw the floor come rushing up at him, colliding with his jaw and pressing against his shoulder. The world seemed to move as though the very foundations of the earth had come loose, spinning around him as he struggled to move his limbs. But his legs would not obey and his arms had been robbed of their strength. All around him turned to blackness as the last of his thoughts boomed in his head.

"I've failed you…"


	6. Chapter 5 -- An Heir's Grief

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**JEWELS AND DAGGERS**

_– **Chapter 5—An Heir's Grief—**_

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><p>"<em>A Glacier" Peter Broderick<em>

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><p>Thorin's skin prickled from a chilly breeze passing over his arm. His eyelids opened slowly, lazily… his body was comfortably situated and the feel of the cool air tickling his fingers was pleasant. For a moment he lay still, listening to the soft sound of fabric fluttering and enjoying the sensation of breathing in an out. Breathing—it felt so good to lie peacefully and just breathe…<p>

"Nadad?" Thorin heard to his right.

_Frerin._ Frerin was there. But he wasn't expected back for another week—he had gone with mother and little Dis on a visit to see his ailing grandmother.

Thorin sent a message to his limbs that he wanted to sit up, but the previously peaceful sensation that had blanketed him was ripped away and his arms and legs objected to the action with a stab and an ache. Mahal, he felt weak, as though his muscles had shrunk and his bones had become sharper.

"Thorin?" Frerin called to him again, and Thorin did his best to turn his head in the direction of the voice, but this was his worst mistake yet. That was no crick in his neck, it was a massive flood of ache and distress, as though his body was telling him that something was terribly wrong. A loud throbbing began at the back of his skull and Thorin groaned loudly.

"Here, here," His younger brother said as he pushed something to Thorin's lips. It was bitter and muddy, but Thorin allowed the substance to pass through his parched lips, commanding his throat to swallow despite the pain it involved.

"Where am I?" Thorin meant to say, but the blades cutting from the inside of his throat stopped the words after "where". When he opened his eyes again, he could see that he was in a tent, but he knew nothing more than that.

"You're safe," Frerin answered vaguely with a small smile, hovering over Thorin's face so that the injured dwarf could see him clearly. "The healers say you hit your head and damaged a few bones in your neck…"

"Why," Thorin gulped, wincing at the dryness as he swallowed, "are you here?"

"I'm glad to see you, too." Frerin snorted.

"Came back early?" Thorin croaked.

The younger brother shook his head, his smile wavering. Frerin was always wearing a smile, but Thorin could see this one bore something gloomy and he could see a dark thing brewing in the optimistic dwarf. "We returned as planned—you've been asleep for the two days since we joined you, and seven more before that."

Nine days. Had Thorin really been asleep for nine days?

"What happened?" He asked, feeling his lids become heavy and the pain in his neck began to dull. Whatever tonic Frerin had given him was doing its work and relaxing him, but he fought against the urge to sleep. "I hit my head?"

"You don't remember?" Frerin's face drooped with concern.

"Runa and I—we were…midday, we went out on the hill at midday." Thorin searched his mind and tried to find the answer. He felt starved and weak, but if he'd truly slept for nine days then he doubted he'd eaten in all that time. "We were sitting in the sun before a fog rolled in." And then Thorin's heart sped up. "Frerin, has something happened to Runa? Where is she?"

Frerin didn't answer him immediately and Thorin could almost feel the cloud of despair surround them as his younger brother seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

"Frerin," Thorin growled. "Do not mince words with me; tell me what has happened!" He knew his brother couldn't lie—he was too genuinely concerned for the well-being of others and couldn't stomach deceit.

"Please, calm down," Frerin begged, his smile completely fading and his eyes glistening with wetness. "I'll tell you, but I'm worried that you won't be strong enough to take what I have to say." He searched Thorin's eyes for something. "Do you really not remember any of what happened?"

"Mahal, I cannot!" Thorin moaned, clenching his fists and cursing his inability to rise from the bed.

"Do you remember the dragon, Thorin?" Frerin asked slowly.

A flood of memories jolted through Thorin's mind as Frerin mentioned the firedrake.

Smaug. The dragon's name was… _is_ Smaug.

Smaug, the terrible. Smaug, the terrifying. Smaug, who was powerful enough to have consumed Dale in a fiery blaze. Smaug, who had rammed the doors of Erebor with a might the dwarves could not withstand. Smaug, who had swallowed dwarves whole before Thorin's eyes. Smaug, whose red scales were almost as red as the hair of the lass he loved…

"He came to us," Thorin said in fear, eyes glazing over as the images from his mind passed over them. "The halls were on fire. The screams, the blood, the destruction—"

"Calm, Thorin, stay calm—you're safe now." Frerin said as he squeezed Thorin's hand.

"Frerin!" Thorin's eyes bored desperately into his younger brothers'. "Tell me I was dreaming! Tell me the things I've seen didn't happen! Please, tell me we are in Erebor and that all is well…" But there was no denying the tears in Frerin's eyes, or the terrible fear that clutched at Thorin's heart. Always, he had been the comforter for his younger brother, his protector and mentor… but for a moment the roles had been reversed. _Please, tell me none of it was real…_

Frerin's tears rolled down his cheeks and fell to Thorin's chest, the sudden wetness stabbing at Thorin's skin as though the drops were made of fire. He said nothing, but held Thorin's hand in both of his with a firmness that said he would have gathered Thorin into an embrace if the older dwarf hadn't been so injured.

"If you cannot lie to me about the dragon, then do not dare to lie about Runa." Thorin growled.

"She's missing." Frerin said quickly. "I wish I could give you either joyous or terrible news, but I have neither." At least in this, Thorin could have some relief. She was not definitively dead or alive, so there was cause for hope. "But there are dwarves trapped in the lower levels of the Lonely Mountain. They cannot get out and we cannot go to them. I can't tell you if she is among them or not."

Thorin both wished and dreaded for his brother to continue and Frerin seemed to sense the demand of his older brother's eyes. Truth. Thorin wanted the truth. "The numbers that travel with us, she might have been among them…"

"Might have been?" Thorin's eyebrows came together.

"When mother, Dis, and I returned to Erebor, we could not believe our eyes. It had been days since the attack of the dragon, but we could still see the signs at the front gate. We saw the multitude of wandering dwarves in the distance and set out for you, but by the time we arrived…" Frerin drew in a trembling breath. "There were raiders. Men. They came and stole the finery from the necks and beards of the nobles who fled in what they wore. But when they came upon the women…"

"They took them." Thorin uttered, finishing for his brother with a heavy disdain for what he knew, logically, would follow.

Frerin nodded. "Our lasses are such a rarity. The other races think we lock them away in the mountain against their will, but we dwarves know it is for their own protection."

"I don't want to hear this," Thorin moaned, reaching up to his own face with weak hands and covering it, as though he could shield himself from Frerin's words. "It can't be happening, none of it can."

"It _is_, Thorin," He heard his father speak while Frerin turned his head toward the entrance of the tent. "And you cannot give in to sorrow. We are of the line of Durin and it is not our lot to weep, but to lead and care for our people."

"Care for our people?" Thorin gritted his teeth. "You were not so concerned with that when the dragon attacked us! You wanted us to flee and leave the rest of them behind!"

"Peace, Thorin." Thrain commanded, stepping closer.

"No—you were ready to leave them behind and it's likely you did nothing to protect them from the theft of the marauding men!"

Thrain looked struck by the words, but he moved closer with a passiveness that marked sympathy. Thorin hollered and shouted, angry tears breaking through his closed lids and grief strangling his heart.

Oh, Mahal, why had he woken at all? Hadn't his sleeping death been better than this? This harsh reality that had stolen all that was important? He bellowed louder, willing his fury to frighten away truth, as though it may yield at any moment and admit that this terror was all in jest.

But then he felt the weight of his brother and father around him, arms wrapped around his weakened body and he knew his cries were pointless. He did not care that sitting up was uncomfortable or that his neck stung and throbbed; the grip of pain at his heart dimmed it all.

Thrain was sitting behind his son on the cushions over the ground, his chest against Thorin's back and weaving his arms around as Frerin pressed himself before Thorin's chest, circling his arms around his older brother's shoulders with hands grabbing at their father's cloak. Thrain and Frerin's bodies trembled while they engulfed the roaring Thorin, but Thorin's cries died down at their warmth and he fell into Frerin's shoulder with a sob.

Thorin fought for air, gritting his teeth and grimacing while Frerin cried softly into Thorin's hair. Thrain whispered to his sons, begging them for forgiveness and promising them that he would do everything in his power to make all right again. But Thorin was beyond consolation, the fear and the loss proving too heavy for him to bear alone, and he drifted away from the waking world with shallow breaths.

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><p>.<p>

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**I cannot apologize for taking so long to update this story—you've heard the excuses before and know that life just gets frantic sometimes.**

**However, I can assure you that I will be updating more often! I don't really know how an entire month went by, but I promise that will not happen again.**


	7. Chapter 6 -- Traitorous Allegiances

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**JEWELS AND DAGGERS**

—_**Chapter 6—Traitorous Allegiances—**_

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><p><em>"Marked Man" Mieka Pauley<em>

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><p>When Thorin woke again, he was not numb to the circumstances as he'd been before and found his brother and Dwalin sitting beside him while he lay on the ground. They murmured quietly to each other, immediately taking notice when he stirred and then offered him food. Though he insisted he could not stomach the bowl of soup they pressed into his hands, his stomach betrayed him and groaned loudly.<p>

As he sat cross-legged, Thorin devoured the meatless stew, finding his hunger and listening while Frerin and Dwalin spoke to him.

"Father departs tomorrow to speak to King Thranduil; perhaps they may offer us some relief while we determine where to go."

"The elves," Thorin growled. "They did not come to our aid as the dragon attacked us—I saw them on the hill. They were fitted for battle and did nothing but watch."

"I cannot blame the elf King for his fear of the Great Worm," Frerin said softly. "But they may yet offer us aid in other forms."

Thorin was not surprised to hear that his brother would speak this way about the elves—Frerin had a character which understood everyone, trying to find their motivation and come to an understanding with each person on their level of thinking. It was this kind of sentiment and behavior which made Thorin think that Frerin would have been the better choice as heir to the throne instead of himself, but that right was granted through birth and not qualification. And this was the first time Thorin resented his brother's way of thinking.

"Do not waste your justifications on that race of traitors." Thorin replied.

"They could just as easily have ushered dwarves to safety, but they didn't. " Dwalin agreed, nodding at Thorin. "Either way, Thrain intends to come before the elf King in the morning."

"Why our father?" Thorin suddenly asked, sensing that something was amiss. "Why not our grandfather, the King?"

"Thror is…" Dwalin sighed. "Not well. Thrain has taken leadership of the people until your grandfather has recovered."

"Recovered from what? Has he been wounded?"

Frerin shared a look with Dwalin before answering. "It is a sickness of the mind. Mother and Dis and I returned to tell him that the healers of the Iron Hills did all they could, but that grandmother passed just before we left. To have lost his mountain, his wife, and so many of his subjects…"

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "But…? There's something you're not telling me."

"He mourns for the loss of the arkenstone more so than his wife or his kingdom." Frerin admitted, lowering his eyes.

Thorin thought that perhaps his brother had been mis-interpreting their grandfather's sentiments… until later that night when he saw for himself. Thror was able to walk and stand, to eat and speak, to answer questions and to give advice where it was needed, but he moved as in a dream, in an enchantment of despair with hollowed eyes and a whispering tongue. It terrified Thorin to see it, but his heart began to accept that he would have to become accustomed to such horrors as they attempted to find a place for their people.

As much as he hated it, Thorin knew that there would be no talk of returning to Erebor. Not yet, anyway—but until that time, his people were hungry and exhausted…

When Thrain made ready to set out for Mirkwood, Thorin felt so strongly compelled to go with him that he almost fell to his knees and begged. Almost. But Thror seemed to sense Thorin's urgency and came out of his stupor for a moment to insist that Thorin go with his father. Thorin was startled by how lucid his grandfather had suddenly become and wondered if Thror's love for his son and grandson was enough to break through the barrier of his grief.

Apparently, Thorin was not the only one feeling restless because his swordbrother, Dwalin, and his blood-brother, Frerin were among the band of dwarves who, after a day of riding, were standing on a tree-like platform below a set of stairs and a throne.

Thrain spoke politely, or what the average dwarf considered polite, while Thorin stood behind him and controlled his urge to shout at King Thranduil. The elf-king listened intently as the dwarves spoke of their hardship and their decision to make for either the Iron Hills or Blue Mountains of Ered Luin, though they would need assistance to do so. At length, the dwarves came to the end of their plea and waited in slight confusion for the elf to speak.

"Will you attempt to regain the Lonely Mountain?" Thranduil asked simply.

"In days to come, yes." Thrain nodded. "But I am less concerned with that at the moment."

"And_ I_ am concerned with the return of elvish property," Thranduil said with sudden intensity. "Such as those white gems given into your care for safekeeping— which are now buried in a mountain housing a dragon." The elf raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at them. "And you come to me asking for more than you have spoken aloud of."

"I only ask for provision for my people to make for a land far enough away that we will not be a burden to you for long." Thrain said with puzzlement. "What more have I asked?"

"Do you not wish to know where the raiders have taken your folk?"

Thorin's heart nested in his throat, threatening to suffocate the dwarf, and he took a trembling breath. "You knew that we were attacked and you did not come to our defense?"

"I will not explain myself to a lowly prince dwarf," Thranduil sneered. "But we saw them as they left and we know where the slavers reside."

"Slavers?" Frerin gasped. "King Thranduil, we beg of you, do not let our kin suffer in being traded—tell us where they are!"

"Your sons speak out of turn, Thrain."

"Forgive them." Thrain nodded, turning his head to give Thorin and Frerin a scowl. Thorin gaped at him incredulously while Frerin nodded and ducked his head.

"I am willing to give aid in all of the things we have spoken of," Thranduil said with a pretentious smile. "But in return, you must do something for me."

Thrain squinted, eyeing the elf knowingly. "You want me to retrieve the white jewels."

"Yes." Thranduil answered in a low voice. "I will grant you either the help of your people or the location of the slavers, but only one of these will I do before I have the jewels in my hand. The other will be done only after that favor. Choose now which of these I should grant you."


	8. Chapter 7 -- Finding Runa

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**JEWELS AND DAGGERS**

—_**Chapter 7—Finding Runa**_

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><p>"<em>Fallout" Linkin Park<em>

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><p>Thrain brought his sons to a lower pathway beneath the elf-king's audience chamber and made as though to consult them there. Thorin was startled when his father told him that the decision between care for the people and the location of the raiders belonged solely to him. It was explained that Thorin would one day reign over the same dwarves that wandered with him now and that the beginning of Thorin's path as a king must start sooner than his father had hoped—<p>

—despite his father's grand words and the logic of his reasoning, Thorin was inwardly despaired and wished that the weight of that responsibility might pass from his shoulders. He already knew what decision he must make, but somehow he could not fathom being the one to make it… and Thorin could recall with perfect clarity the words his beloved had spoken only a month ago:

"_What kind of a King would submit to the wishes of his people before his own wife?" He had asked her._

"_You will always put your people before me." She had said imperiously, eyes fierce with determination. It was not an accusation, not something said out of bitterness, but a command. "When you are King and you are faced with difficult choices, you do not have my permission to put your Queen ahead of your charge."_

Oh, how he hated the fate that had brought him to act on those prophetic words! And yet, Thorin gave his answer to his father and they pleaded with King Thranduil to give their people relief.

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><p>"<em>First Defeat" Noah Gunderson<em>

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><p>But the determination that coursed through Thorin's veins could not be held back, not even by a declaration from his father that he was not to leave their temporary encampment. Thrain's heir was not an excellent tracker, he would admit, but Thorin knew enough to follow what few clues had been left behind and set himself to following the trail to the hideout of the slavers.<p>

It was not known to him until he was part of the way there that his brother and Dwalin were marching closely behind, guessing Thorin's thoughts though he spoke his mind to no one and had stolen away in secret. They implored him to let them follow, to help him to retrieve their stolen kinfolk, and after many angry and bitter words he resigned himself to their aid.

They followed the trail over grass and hill, passing through a few towns before coming upon dwarves who had been enslaved and sold for blacksmithing and servant-work, freeing them from their bonds and returning them to Thrain and the mass of dwarves who made for safer mountains. With every group Thorin sent back with Frerin, he found more and more proof that Runa had been among those stolen—with some enslaved dwarves even giving an account of her capture and the valiant fight she had put up to protect those taken alongside her—and that hope spurred him on.

From town to town they went, Frerin taking the dwarves back to his father before returning to Thorin and continuing with them, but it was slow work and Thorin found himself following a colder and colder trail as the weeks drew on.

It wasn't until a chance circumstance led them to a farm at which they found dwarves who were happily situated as farm-hands and house-servants.

"We would not have you think that our fate is so terrible," A dwarf, Frar, explained, "as those who were chained and sold against their will to abusive masters. Please, believe me when I say that we have been treated well."

"I can believe it if you declare it to be so, but you must persuade me that you are in better hands here than you would be with the dwarves that wander with my father." Thorin said gruffly. "Is your freedom an acceptable price for a full belly and a place to sleep?"

"My prince, you don't understand," Frar said with a sympathetic eye. "I watched handfuls of dwarves being sold as though their lives meant nothing, but the men here," The dwarf waved a hand at the vast farm-land before them, "only purchased me to secure my safety. They freed me as soon as they could manage and bought the rest of my family from the slavers—even going to such lengths as travelling to the next town to retrieve my sons—and asked me to stay on and work the field for better wages than I received even in your father's halls.

"They have let me build a house of my own on their land with the promise that I have rights to hunt and gather—can you offer me a better future than this?" The dwarf ducked his head. "I mean no dishonor to you, I only mean to encourage you that we are well provided for and that you need not burden yourself with care for us when you already have so many to be responsible for."

Thorin could understand the dwarf's position and almost wished that their roles had been reversed. This dwarf was only asking for a simple life and had been blessed beyond comprehension. How could Thorin "save" him from such a fate?

"Mahal has blessed you, sir," Thorin ducked his head. "And I pray that he continues to do so, if this is the life you would choose for yourself and your family."

"It is." The man nodded his head.

"But I hope, at least, that my coming here has not been for nothing—I am searching for the other dwarves, and surely you know that they have not been as fortunate as you—"

"I know of none except the dwarves that were sold in the town at the end of the road and the town further north." The dwarf offered.

Thorin nodded, the heaviness of his disappointment threatening to crush him into the ground, but the dwarf put a hand on his shoulder and his eyes widened.

"No, there were two others," the dwarf amended. "Two lasses—one black-haired, stout dwarf-girl, and the other had fiery, red hair."

Immediately, Thorin's heart quickened to a galloping pace. "Where were they taken?"

"I don't know," The dwarf said with remorse. "I only know that they were considered high-value and that they weren't sold here or in the village before that. Oh, Prince Thorin," The dwarf withdrew his hand. "If anyone is in need of help, it is them."

The dwarf proceeded to describe to Thorin the treatment these women had undergone—how the slavers had practically starved them to "improve their figure" from their natural, bulky forms, and how they had even shaved off the beard of one of the lasses, though he could not remember which. Thorin's heart clenched at the descriptions the dwarf gave him, and the fire which had only heated his determination before was now an all-consuming blaze. With winter fast approaching, he knew time was running out.

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><p><em>(Please, please, please, listen to this song while your read this next segment)<em> "_Hit the Floor" Linkin Park_

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><p>After a few more inquiries, Thorin and Dwalin arrived in a town that confirmed the existence of a house on a hill, owned by a rich merchant with a taste for all things foreign. Glor, as the man was called, had situated his property a few miles away from the town, purchasing guards to patrol the edges of the groomed yard before the porch of the large house.<p>

But none of this could dim Thorin's resolve and he rode off for the house with Dwalin in tow—and though his sword-brother only once tried to persuade the incensed dwarf to wait for reinforcements, that suggestion was acknowledged with a growl and dismissed as though it had never been uttered.

Walking up the rocky path to the front gate, Thorin strode by the guards, sword in hand, with a glare that made the men back away from him as though he were a harbinger of death. And indeed, he was—at least, for the man who dared to lay a hand on the dwarf's beloved.

Upward he walked, and with each powerful step Thorin took, the skies seemed to cheer him on with claps of thunder and flashes of lightning. Dwalin followed behind with an equally ferocious expression, though it lacked the violent bloodlust that filled Thorin's eyes.

"Glor!" Thorin roared as he slowly ascended the steps of the house, his voice putting the thunder to shame.

The scramble of terrified servants was heard and when Thorin opened the front doors, he had eyes only for the man who fled up the stairs. Dwalin hissed at those who looked at Thorin questioningly, but the aggression that emanated from the dwarf was like a humid cloud and consumed them, causing them to tremble.

"Glor!" Thorin bellowed again, following the man up the steps and locking his eyes onto the overweight man's legs as they struggled to take him away from the shouts of his name. Glor stumbled only once, but he made for the door of a room and slammed it shut behind him, the click of a lock sounding just behind it.

Dwalin drew back, allowing Thorin to approach the room on his own, and stood at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed, as though daring someone to try and approach them. But there was no one else in the house—it had emptied when the servants and staff saw the murderous glare of the dwarf and knew he was intent on their master's death.

Reaching a hand for the door, Thorin was certain he would find it locked, but tried the handle anyway, readying his sword in his other hand.

Glor was a fool if he thought that a door would stop Thorin from taking back what was his.

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><p>.<p>

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**Thank you for your patience in waiting for these chapters. The next one should be up in a few days- don't worry, I won't drag it out!**


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